


Interfector

by Miaschyx



Series: BPS Halloween 2019 [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, BPS Event, Gen, Halloween 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 04:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21265367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miaschyx/pseuds/Miaschyx
Summary: “Hey, shhh, it’s okay, look, I’ll make it fast and painless.”His voice cracks, choked up when he sobs, “I just—I—I don’t wanna die.”





	Interfector

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for the BPS Halloween event, 2019. I won't lie, I was heavily inspired in this by a book series that shall not be named. It also heavily influenced my witch John AU...

It’s _supposed_ to be a straightforward job. Follow the kid when he leaves his friend’s house, wait until he’s alone, then get rid of him.

Simple.

But _nooo,_ it can’t be _that_ easy; he _had_ to glance over his shoulder and start running.

So now he has to chase after him and hope he doesn’t lose track when rounding the dark corners with only dim street lights illuminating the way.

He’s trained for this, spent hours every day working out for when he needs to get his job done. The kid’s not even attempting to keep silent, refusing to hide, running in random directions, trying to escape from him. From the information within his file, he doesn’t do sports, doesn’t go to the gym, nothing. Just a spoiled rich kid eating away at his parents’ money as they indulge him however he wants.

A flash of a red jacket rounds a familiar corner and can’t help but smile to himself. There’s a fire escape drilled into the wall, but if he goes past, the guy has nowhere to go. Heated breaths pass his lips as he hurries after his target, steps into the alleyway, and smiles upon spotting the dumbfounded kid realizing he’s cornered. The boy spins around to stare down his pursuer, struggling to put on a brave face, chest heaving.

“Why’d you run, Lui?” he asks, swallowing and trying to regain his breath.

Lui is in no better shape, backing up and looking at the wall behind him, avoiding standing on a magazine sitting on the ground. Wide-eyed, he states with a wavering voice, “You’re Moo.”

“Ah…you know who I am.” The kid freezes when he steps closer, gaze darting across the stranger’s form. Lips part upon spotting Brock’s fingers curling around the handle of a glistening knife, pulling it free of its sheath.

Lui makes a run for it. Brock grabs him by the sleeve before he can get past, only to have the guy smack at his bicep. Brock shoves him against the brick wall with a grunt and pins him there, frowning. The kid continues struggling, trying to kick out at him, landing a heel against the man’s shin. Fighting out of sheer panic, Lui ends up shoved towards the dead end alleyway, stumbling on his feet and staring up at his pursuer.

“Will you just knock it off,” Brock huffs, getting a better grip on his blade.

Lui doesn’t listen. He attempts to run again until knife thrusts in his direction. Instinct kicks in and he bounces backwards, ending up with a small knick on the back of his hand as he tries to bat the weapon away. He winces and hisses out a low, “Shit,” as he retreats, licking the blood as it continues beading on his skin.

“Oh my god, stop it.” Brock checks himself over, looks down the alleyway, and takes in a slow breath. He struggles to remain calm and stern when he tells Lui, “Drop it, you’re not gonna run from me anymore.”

“I can try,” he retorts, glancing at the fire escape behind the hitman.

“Well, it won’t work,” Brock insists. Lui goes still at that, gaze on the knife as his attacker holds it aloft. He glances up at the windows on the floors above and opens his mouth. Brock cuts him off with a warning, “You scream, I go after your sister too.”

“Don’t!” Lui shouts, a hint of desperation surfacing. He drops his voice when he begs, “Don’t, please.” Brock wouldn’t; before getting into this line of business, Brock had a rule, a hard limit; no minors or pregnant women. His sibling is too young, she won’t be harmed, no.

But Lui doesn’t know about that. And although Lui is two years past that cut-off, it’s heartbreaking seeing someone so youthful, so _terrified_ for his life. Brock snorts and makes his voice soften as he says, “If you make this easier, no harm will come to her.” His gaze drops, throat moving as he swallows. Brock sighs. “Look, it’s okay, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then _why?_” he stresses, looking up. Another step closer. Brock can see the shake in his shoulders. Lui hiccups, cheeks flushed red from the chase, wincing at the pain in his hand. “I did nothing wrong, yeah? So why?”

“Your parents did some terrible things,” he states. Lui’s stare says it all, flicking from surprise to confusion, realization to disappointment, and landing on resignation. Brock gives a sympathetic smile and comes to a stop a couple paces before him. Tears glisten in Lui’s eyes. _Aw, man._ “Hey, shhh, it’s okay, look, I’ll make it fast and painless.”

His voice cracks, choked up when he sobs, “I just—I—I don’t wanna die.”

Brock opens his arms in invitation, knife angled away. “Come here, I’ll hold you.” Wet tracks carve over his cheeks, hands curled up against his chest, defensive. Lui exhales a whine, looking around again as if he could discover an alternative escape route like magic. “It’s just like hugging your mother.”

He makes one last attempt to run only to find himself blocked by another of Brock’s arms, his leg stuck out to stop him from ducking under it. Lui retreats. He looks back at Brock, a furrow in his brow as he hiccups again. “Is it gonna hurt?” Lui questions, sniffling and struggling to even out his ragged breathing.

“No, I’ll make sure you won’t feel it,” Brock promises. Hands raising and keeping his distance, Brock waits for Lui to move. He doesn’t push, not when he sees the fear, the pain, the anguish, the indignation. So he waits, gives a friendly smile, and says, “Either you come here and you won’t even notice it happening or you run and I drag it out.”

He stares at Brock, shuddering, watery red eyes trying to blink the tears away.

His terror is unmistakable, but he’s rational enough to see when he’s beat.

He steps closer.

“There we go, it’ll be all right,” Brock soothes. Lui’s gaze drops, face scrunching up, shakes intensifying with every motion. He moves forward again, within arm’s reach. Brock could kill him with ease. His grip tightens on his knife. Instead, he keeps his promise and remains still, allowing Lui to walk towards his demise. He takes the last step. Brock wraps the boy up in his arms, rests a hand at the back of his head, and sighs. These kinds of targets are always the hardest to kill. Not because of regret, not because he doesn’t want to, but because sympathy washes through him when they break. “It’s okay, you won’t even know what happened; it’ll be over soon.”

“Please,” he begs, “I don’t wanna fucking die.”

Fingers squeeze at Brock’s jacket, tugging, a last-ditch effort to get him to show mercy. Lui shudders and sniffles. Brock lets out a breath and shakes his head.

“No.”

Too many children have died because of his parents’ ill-doings and poor practices. They should understand the pain of all the people who put their trust in their company. He’s being paid top-dollar for this job. He knows the loss they’ve all experienced…

Brock turns Lui’s face down to hide against his shoulder and whispers, “Shhh, just hold on to me, okay?” A nod brushes against his ear. Brock squeezes tight, twisting his right hand to angle the point of the blade towards the nape of Lui’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

Lui sobs.

Brock plunges the knife.

The boy spasms once in his arms before falling still, slumping against Brock, air escaping his lungs. He holds tight, keeping him upright, before lowering his body to the floor. Lui rolls to the side before the man tugs the blade free, crimson oozing over the asphalt beneath him. Brock’s other hand shuts the kid’s blank eyes. He knows he should feel guilt, the shame that’s supposed to come with killing someone that didn’t deserve it.

It never comes.

Brock pulls his phone out and takes a picture of the corpse.

He turns on his heels and begins texting.

> **To: Client 42  
It’s done. Evidence is attached. Payment is expected within three days.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> EDIT: _this did not age well._


End file.
